Tight Spaces
by Summer Leigh Wind
Summary: "This is a nice hiding spot," Harry lies. The little professor scoffs. "I know better ones," he declares. "Oh yeah? Like what?" Harry inquires, actually a little curious to see what he'll say. One-Shot


_**Tight Spaces**_

* * *

They said they'd been looking for him for hours; that's why they brought them to Hogwarts, extra bodies, extra minds (two heads are better than one and all that). Hermione, the ever practical girl that she is, attempted to use the Four-Point-Spell to find him, but even that didn't work (it was like their was magic working against it, her wand had spun her in circles-as if he's everywhere) After nearly two more hours with no luck, Harry can see Pomfrey's at her wits end-losing a patient is no laughing matter.

They've all vacated the room for a third time and Harry decides to stay behind.

"Are you sure? I doubt he's in here..." Hermione asks with a frown.

The boy shrugs. "I'll do another sweep, it'll keep you all from having to come back and do it again anyway."

The girl gives him an anxious smiles, "That's not a bad idea, I do hope we find him...it's awful to think that he might not have his memories and is lost somewhere around here." Harry agrees with a solemn nod and even though he does, can't help that vicious part of himself that says it's wonderful that he could be lost (he deserves it, the git). She reaches out, running a hand down his arm, "We'll be back soon-hopefully with him in tow."

"Go on," Harry urges, "You'll find him."

One last fleeting smile and the infirmary's tall doors close. Walking to the closest bed, Harry flops down with a sigh. He's so tired and looking for a child-sized professor that he doesn't even _like _is eating up his precious reserve of energy. Rubbing at the bridge of his nose underneath his glasses, the boy almost doesn't hear the tiny creak from the supply closet a few beds down. Turning his head, he sees it has shifted a centimeter. Frowning, he gets up and walks to it; he bets it's just a draft...yet he still decides to open the door. it's shelf after shelf, the first one just a little higher than his knee.

How old had Pomfrey said the professor looked? Ah yes, that's right, seven or eight. Eyeing the low shelf once more, Harry considers it from a child's view. While it would feel impossibly small to him, it might feel cozy to a scared little boy. Bending down, he peers under the shelf to see a surprise.

Two beetle-black eyes glare out at him.

"Hullo," he whispers, crouching down. The boy's face shifts into a scowl as his scrawny arms come to rest on his knees. "I'm Harry," he introduces as he comes to sit criss-cross in front of the child's hiding place. After a pause in which the child is no more forth coming, Harry thinks to asks, "Can I squeeze in there with you? You've picked a wicked hiding spot."

The boy, surprisingly, shrugs.

Harry takes it as permission and crawls in, wincing just a little at how his elbows have to dig into his spleen just for him to fit. The child's hand darts out, bringing the door closed once more. It takes more will-power than Harry would like to admit to restrain himself from not jump at the door to pound on it as if it was going to keep him locked in this tight squeeze forever. Looking to the almost at ease boy, Harry finds it funny how one child's sanctuary can be another's prison. He hates small spaces-each and every one remind him of the cupboard he could and was locked away in for hours-occasionally days at a time.

"This is a nice hiding spot," Harry lies.

The little professor scoffs. "I know better ones," he declares.

"Oh yeah? Like what?" Harry inquires, actually a little curious to see what he'll say.

"My mum has this old travelling chest-we use it as a coffee table; the latch on it is broken and sometimes I'll go in there. There's also a bush outside my window; I'll climb out and hide there too sometimes." He tells Harry, watching him warily.

"Those _are _good hiding spots," Harry compliments, "when do you hide there? When you're playing?"

A shadow ghosts through the boy's eyes; "No," he replies. "...When mum and da argue," he corrects after a beat.

"Do they argue a lot?" Harry questions, stomach rolling.

"Yeah, I guess you could say so," the little boy agrees.

"You know, when I was your age; I didn't have any where I could hide." Harry says to the child without really understanding why.

His pale face lifts from behind his arms, eyes glimmering. "Why?" He murmurs.

"I lived-live with my aunt and uncle...they don't really like me, you see, so when I was little they were always watching me-waiting for me to slip up so they had a reason to toss me in my cupboard."

"That sounds bad," the boy mutters dubiously.

Harry nods. "It was," he concurs, "I never knew when they were going to let me out."

"Did they leave you in there long then?" The child continues.

Harry looks away. He doesn't know why he's telling the boy this-it's blackmail if he remembers...but, seeing him as a little boy hiding in a _supply closet _should keep from using it against him, shouldn't it? At least he hopes so. "I think the record was two days," Harry admits.

Beetle-black eyes large, the child exclaims in a half-whisper, "That's sounds even worse than gettin' the belt!"

Harry's heart twinges, a belt, he is certain is much worse than being denied food and locked in cupboards. "Oh I don't know, I had spiders to keep me company;" Harry tries to deflect.

The child frowns. "At least I know mum won't let him kill me," he counters.

Harry sighs and runs a hand through his hair; it was usually uncle Vernon who put him in the cupboard...did aunt Petunia make him let Harry out? Or did they let him out because they needed their "slave"? He doesn't know and he isn't sure he can give a convincing enough argument to win against the little professor.

"You know everyone's looking for you,"" Harry imparts instead.

The child's nose crinkles. "Who's 'they'? 'cause I don't know _them_," he hisses with some real venom in his words.

The boy sighs. "They're people who want to help you-you had an accident, you see, and your mum brought you here," Harry lies.

The child studies him. "What kind of accident? Why don't I remember?" He demands.

The dark-haired youth shakes his head. "I was just called in to find you, I don't know what happened; all I _do _know is that Pomfrey-I'll point her out to you when she comes in-wants to make sure your alright so you can go home."

Suspicious, the little boy curls in on himself. "That's all?" He questions.

"It is," Harry confirms. "Now, why don't we get out of here? I know where Pomfrey keeps her stash of sweets." The boy tells the younger, holding out a hand.

"Does she have licorice?" The child asks curiously, his clammy hand coming to rest in Harry's.

"I think so," Harry answers, pushing open the dark room's door and leading them into the light.

* * *

**I don't have any definite positions on how this moment came to be (potion's accident, perhaps?) or as to when in the series this would have happened, (I like the summer before fifth-year myself), but, I suppose it can be canon-compliant because in my mind it would play out with Pomfrey giving Snape a re-aging potion and all would be well again. **

**This is a One-Shot and I simply don't have the will to stretch this out into multiple chapters.**

**Thank you for reading and please review! :)**


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